


When The Luck Turns

by fourfreedoms



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, ridiculousness: my favorite word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames won't come back for anything less than a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Luck Turns

They need him. It’s that simple. It’s like upgrading your computer. Once you’ve installed four gigs of ram, you can’t go back to two. Which means that Cobb and Arthur have to find him. It’s not hard. They are all creatures of habit. He’s in Monaco this time in a truly hideous seersucker suit, drinking Jameson and losing at craps. He’s got a blonde on his arm and another one leaning over his chair.

“Gambling away your share of the take?” Cobb asks, voice fond.

“No.” Eames doesn’t even turn, although the blondes do. They stare at Arthur and Cobb with their doe eyes. Of course this is Eames’ type.

“Well, we’ll wait until the luck turns,” Arthur replies, exchanging a glance with Cobb.

Eames snorts. “My dear, I’m assuredly gambling away my share of the take. I meant no, whatever scheme you've dreamed up, I don’t want in.”

“Eames, I have to say, this is unlike you,” Cobb says.

“There were tentacles last time,” Eames replies, pushing away from the table and knocking back his whiskey. He turns around, the force of his gaze grazing over Arthur, before turning on Cobb. “Have you ever had your every orifice probed by the tentacles of a mark? One who was supposed to be perfectly harmless?”

“No, but technically neither have you,” Cobb answers.

“Oh yes, try winning with that argument,” Eames replies drly. “I hadn't realized it was a line I would ever have to draw, but I have done and you can sod off.”

“Eames…” Cobb tries again.

“Evening, Cobb, Tightpants.” He nods at each of them in turn and then pushes past them off the casino floor.

He’s gone by the time they get to the reception desk.

*

They pick up his trail again in Karachi, but it's a complete accident that Arthur stumbles upon him. He walks into a little gift shop for a bottle of Volvic, a defense against the blistering heat, and there Eames is, staring at the post card display. Today's occularly-offensive couture includes a pair of huge sunglasses and a cotton shirt that might’ve been halfway decent for somebody eight times larger than Eames with a very different complexion. Honestly it astonishes Arthur every time. There is no perceptible reason that this man should ever get laid as regularly as he does.

Eames sees him and groans. “Oh, Arthur, my cold fish, I would’ve thought you knew better than anyone that 'no means no.'”

“Can’t really take no for an answer, Eames,” Arthur replies. “It’s a lot of money. A lot of money.”

“It’s always a lot of money,” Eames says, walking up to the counter with Arthur. When Arthur sets his water down, Eames shoves a stack of ugly postcards down on the counter next to it, forcing Arthur to pay for them as well. “Look, I would love to think I’m so singular in my abilities that I'm the only person in the world for the job, but there _are_ others who have at least a measure of my talent, go stalk one of them.”

Arthur hands him his postcards and twists the top of his water. “Liar.”

Eames grins at him. “Alright then, we both know I just said that to win the argument.”

“But you _didn’t_ win.”

Eames shoots him an unreadable glance as he tucks his postcards inside the over-sized shirt. There's moment of tense silence where Arthur waits for some kind of explanation that never comes. Turning on his heel, Eames walks out onto the crowded street, Arthur trailing behind. When Arthur’s cellphone goes off in his pocket he glances down for barely a second, but when he looks up, Eames might as well have evapourated. He sighs.

*

He shows up on a flight manifest for São Paulo next. This time they meet him as he’s exiting the plane. “Vacationing, are you?” he says darkly, duffle over his shoulder.

“Eames, whatever it is you want, you can have,” Cobb tells him.

“At the moment, I want a decent cup of coffee. I’d settle for a Starbucks.”

Cobb does him one better. He takes him to Havana Café on Rua Bela Cintra.

“Did you know that São Paulo produces roughly 4/5ths of the world’s coffee?” Arthur and Cobb stare at him. Eames blows down on the hot coffee and says, “You really are desperate for it. What’s the job?”

Arthur pulls out a dossier that he shoves at Eames. “We need to find out whether or not a black ops unit of the CIA has gone rogue and who exactly is on their payroll.”

Eames leaves the dossier untouched. Arthur is mildly annoyed. He color-coded that thing—made it Eames friendly. “Who’s the client?”

Arthur blows out a breath. “The international court of justice.”

“Good lord, that doesn’t sound fun at all.”

Arthur snaps, “It’s not fun, it’s impor—”

Cobb puts a hand on his arm and then repeats, much more evenly, “Eames, it’s important.”

Eames takes another sip, seemingly holding it in his mouth for a long moment, before finally answering, “Right, well, usual conditions apply, but also, no snow, no tentacles, and…” he ticks off two of his fingers while Cobb nods and then he drops his hand and looks straight at Arthur, the curve of his full lower lip curling up into a positively evil grin. “Give us a kiss then.”

Arthur starts. “Excuse me.”

“A kiss, Arthur, surely even a Victorian soul like you has heard of such a thing.”

“Done,” Cobb replies, smoothly.

“What?” Arthur blinks at Cobb. “Wait a moment—”

“It’s just a kiss,” Cobb replies, glancing at him with a bland expression. Eames cocks his head, still grinning, like he’s just waiting for Arthur to say no so he can throw their offer right back in their faces again.

“Oh, very well!” he grumps. Eames leans forward expectantly and Arthur knows his face has turned scarlet. “What? Here?”

Eames raises a brow, and Arthur sighs and leans across the table. He expects a joke kiss. Something to humiliate Arthur. But Eames is as serious as he ever gets. He cups Arthur’s jaw with one callused palm, mouth gliding over Arthur’s as he flicks his tongue inside. Arthur can’t help his quick intake of breath, and Eames exploits it, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. Heat races up Arthur’s spine. He’s actually turned on. Turned on by Eames. Life sucks. Eames nibbles at the outer corner of his lip and then slowly pulls back, hand still on his cheek. Arthur swallows and has to drop his eyes.

“Yes, I think that’ll do nicely,” he says softly.

Arthur blinks and practically falls backwards into his chair. He doesn’t miss Cobb’s sardonic face.

“Deals a deal,” Cobb says, arms crossed over his chest. He looks terribly amused. Arthur has on many occasions wanted to punch him. He loves Cobb, though he'll only admit to it under great duress, but a large part of their working relationship has involved Arthur wanting to punch him. Today is just one of those days.

Eames looks at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. He refocuses his gaze on Cobb and nods. “Right, where to next?”

“Denver,” Arthur attempts to reply acidly, but it comes out a little shy of the mark.

“Denver? How perfectly horrible.”

Arthur sighs. “Just…drink your coffee.”

“I will for another kiss.”

Cobb throws some money down to pay for the coffee. Now that he's got Eames on the job, he's not going to sit around indulging in coffee breaks. “Stop flirting.”

“We’re not!” Arthur protests.

“Oh yes, tightpants, yes we are.”


End file.
